


Melltithio

by embersofamber



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avalon - Freeform, Drama, Enchantment, F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, Magic, References to Camelot, Romance, Vengeful Sorcerers, magical curses, tags added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embersofamber/pseuds/embersofamber
Summary: ***Tags added as story progresses and may contain spoilers***The heir of Isildur has always been cautious and wary when in the wilds, and that has kept him alive through many hardships and trials. But it is a lonely existence, and companionship hard to come by. Strider never anticipated a cure to his solitude to come about in such an unusual way. He certainly never expected her.AU [Aragorn/OFC]





	Melltithio

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU Aragorn/OC short story, AU in the fact that in this imagining of Tolkien's world, Arwen departed Middle-earth long before Aragorn's birth. Being a very devoted, loving and concerned daughter, after Celebrian's torture by orcs, Arwen accompanied her mother when she chose to take the ship west. Other than that, everything else remains essentially the same. I originally thought this would be a one-shot, but I have since decided to do it in several parts instead, though I am uncertain just how many it will be by the end, perhaps 3-5, I'm just not sure yet. I've been toying with this idea for a while, and when I need a bit of a break from my longer LOTR stories, I've enjoyed working on this little tale. This is not set in the same AU as my other stories, and is intended as a stand-alone. It's a bit different than what I normally write, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)

**Part One**

* * *

 

 

Strider slid behind the large tree, crouching silently and pulling out his dagger as quietly as possible from where it hung at his waist, with his sword held closely in his other hand. He had been followed for the better part of the day, and had allowed the pursuers to get closer and closer to draw them in, where he then planned to put an end to their hunt, with himself as the victor.

 

It was not the first time he had been stalked by evil, and he knew it would not be the last. If he were not adept with dealing with assassins he would have joined his ancestors in death long since. Either fortune or luck continued to favor him, and perhaps no small measure of skill he had acquired during his many years of traveling the land, far and wide.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour later, he wiped a rivulet of sweat from his brow and surveyed the three bodies of the men lying dead around him. Haradrim, from the look of their dark hair and skin and the clothing and trappings they wore. Drawing a deep breath, he replaced his sword in its sheath, frowning at the broken dagger protruding from the chest of one of the men. It wasn’t the finest dagger he had ever owned, but he hadn’t expected it to fall apart in his hands. Fortunately, the handle had only cracked and fallen away after he had buried the blade in the heart of his final enemy, ending the last of the immediate threat.

 

The Ranger searched their bodies for any sign of what their intentions had been, beyond the obvious of trying to kill him, or who might have commanded them to seek his life. Beyond basic provisions, there was little of note on any of them, except for an exceptional dagger one of them had carried that looked quite out of place on such coarse and wicked men. Withdrawing it from its fine leather sheathe, he examined it intently, holding it up to the light where it gleamed brightly. The design seemed somewhat reminiscent of elvish craftsmanship, but the runes along the blade were nothing he had ever seen, nor did they come from any language he recognized. He had not thought the Haradrim people would make something in such a style or so obviously fine. But it was quite possible, or perhaps even likely it had been stolen.

 

In need of a new dagger, and pragmatic by nature, Strider secured it to his belt. Quickly retrieving his small pack from where he had hidden it before engaging his enemies, he left the area behind swiftly, careful to remove as many signs of his presence as possible. If he truly was being hunted and it didn’t turn out to be an isolated incident, he had to be even more cautious than usual. By the time dark fell, he had easily put a dozen miles between himself and those he vanquished, but decided not to risk a fire until the following night. Finding a likely spot among a cluster of stout trees, he pulled his cloak tight around him against the chill of the evening and soon fell into a light doze.

 

During the night, he awakened to what he thought was the sound of a woman singing, but after confirming he was alone and there was no one else nearby, he determined it to be a dream and fell back into a restless, fitful sleep. Before dawn broke, he was on his way once more, eager to be back in more familiar territory. He had traveled very far to the east in his most recent search for news of Gollum, but had discovered very little of note.

 

A handful of days passed in more travel, and that evening Aragorn built a small fire. Laying the rabbit on the grass that he had killed, he pulled the dagger from his belt and cut it open, beginning to clean and prepare it to cook for his evening meal. A woman’s voice spoke, so near it sounded as though she were right beside him.

 

“You would use me for so inglorious a task? By the stars and moon, I have truly fallen low to now find myself sunk into animal entrails. If you do not mend your ways and treat me with greater respect, I shall char your catch to cinders.”

 

Rising immediately into a ready half-crouch, the Ranger spun in a circle, looking for the person the voice belonged to, wondering how a woman had managed to take him unawares. He had heard no sound of approach, so she must be truly skilled. That was a new threat or tactic of assassin, to send a woman. His careful search of the area around him revealed nothing, and when he heard the same voice again in mocking laughter, his dark brows drew together in anger.

 

“Where do you hide, woman? Show yourself!”

 

Keeping his dagger held before him defensively, he paced the edge of his camp, and beyond, as silent minutes stretched. Standing to his full height, he swept his gaze around him in puzzlement, finally lowering the dagger to his side as he pondered the strange occurrence. He had certainly not imagined the voice.

 

“I cannot truly show myself to you,” the voice sighed in obvious annoyance. “But if you will clean the animal blood from my blade and look at the silver length, I will give you what glimpse of me I may.”

 

In confusion, Aragorn stared down at the dagger he clutched in his right hand, becoming concerned when he noticed the whole thing was glowing with faint light. In alarm, he flung it away from him, concerned he had come across some new trick of evil to tempt or ensnare him.

 

“Ah, such bravery as I have seldom seen, to be so very frightened of a dagger. Are you such a man to quake in fear before me?” the voice inquired in a flat tone, changing swiftly to entreatment. “Come, come, take me up once more. I swear on my honor I shall not attempt to harm you now. I am only curious to see your face and take your measure. I seem always to fall into the hands of the very lowest and contemptible individuals.” A weary sigh followed from the voice. “Shall you be any different? I begin to lose all hope that honor or valor lives in this place I find myself.”

 

Taking a step nearer, Aragorn considered what action he should take. It seemed the blade he had thought no more than a useful tool was instead something decidedly other, and obviously magical in nature. The question to ponder was whether it was something of evil or something intended for good. He did not yet have a clear sense either way.

 

“What are you, exactly, and for what purpose would you have me take you up in my hand again? If you seek to ensorcell me in some way, I will tell you now that I will not be as some fool to fall prey to you. I am always on my guard, spirit!”

 

Another peal of delighted laughter sounded, and the blade on the grass glowed more brightly, now with pale blue light. “Ah, I shall bless this day, if for nothing more than your amusing company bringing me to laughter.” The voice fell quieter, turning musing. “I cannot remember when last I was moved to so much laughter as now. ‘Tis strange to think how often I once laughed, like a distant dream one cannot fully recall through the mists of the mind.”

 

Determined to know what exactly the thing was, he drew nearer, but still remained cautious. Crouching down next to the dagger, he drew a bit of cloth he used as a handkerchief from a pouch at his waist and grasped the hilt with it. He carefully wiped away the blood and filth from the blade on the grass and lifted it carefully. The blade shimmered and then became as clear as a mirror, but not reflecting, rather showing something from within: a pair of startling blue eyes that examined his face intently before they widened in apparent surprise.

 

“I readily see you have a very noble brow, sir, and a sober, careful nature. Nothing at all like the wretched knave who held me last. Pray, what is your name?”

 

Aragorn searched the eyes carefully, deciding he could neither see nor sense any evil from the spirit, but still resolved he would not relax his guard. “You may call me Strider, for now, as some do.”

 

The eyes turned contemplative and then sorrowful. “Not your true name. You are wise to withhold it, for true names carry great power, as my mother warned me on more than one occasion. It is to my eternal regret and shame that I did not more closely heed her teachings and warnings.”

 

His lips pulled down in a small frown. “And what shall I call you? It seems I must have some way to address you if we are to continue this rather bizarre association – blade, spirit, or whatever you may truly be.”

 

The blue eyes moved across his face as though mapping his features for future recall, before meeting his grey eyes again. “You may call me _Melltithio_ , if you please. It is the name given to the blade by the one who bound me to it, so very long ago. But pray, forebear while I put a case to you, then answer me one question. You come upon a house burning with fire, and you have just enough time to save one thing before the flame consumes all; a golden chest filled with rich treasure, or a simple peasant man, begging for his life. Which do you stretch your hand toward?”

 

Strider raised a dark brow and shook his head. “The man, of course. There is no greater treasure than preserving the life of an innocent, whether peasant or lord.”

 

The blue eyes softened before hardening in a look of resolve. “I hear there is sincerity in your voice. I think you may perhaps prove to be a worthy man, or such is my hope, and if so, I shall endeavor to help you in what way I may. Only keep me near you, and I shall be of use to warn you of any danger that draws nigh.”

 

Stroking a free hand across his beard in consideration, he tilted his head curiously. “You say you were bound to this dagger? Are you truly something more than the spirit you seem?”

 

Pale eyelids swept down over the eyes, veiling them briefly, and then they dipped as though moved by a nodding head. “I was once much more than I am now. A woman, a daughter, a friend. But no longer. I am truly _Melltithio_ , as the name given to the blade in the tongue of the sorcerer implies. Which in your tongue means...damned or cursed.”

 

The silver surface of the dagger shimmered and the eyes disappeared, leaving behind only the appearance of a finely wrought blade. Musing over the strange happenings, and the possible implications of having a possessed blade, he replaced the dagger in the sheathe at his waist and returned to preparing his dinner.

 

“I have a very fine recipe for a succulent roasted rabbit which I can share with you, if you are interested and have a few necessary herbs in reach.”

 

Smiling faintly, having switched to his much smaller belt knife to finish cutting the meat, he nodded. “I am always willing to hear new methods of preparing rabbit. I confess it is not my most preferred meat. I favor fowl or deer while in the wild.”

 

“Oh! I could once make the most delectable venison you have ever tasted,” _Melltithio_ exclaimed. “Many tried to charm my secrets from me, but I never revealed them. Would I had been as careful about keeping other secrets.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

With a pleasantly full stomach from the new recipe he had tried and strangely warmed by the companionship, Strider took out his pipe, packed and lit it. Leaning back against the trunk of a tree, he pulled the blade out and set it against his leg. When the eyes appeared again, he drew on his pipe thoughtfully.

 

“Earlier, you made small mention of a banquet you once attended that turned to catastrophe when the suckling pig exploded. Will you not tell me the whole tale?”

 

The blue eyes crinkled in the blade while a delighted laugh sounded. “Oh! It was tragic, yet truly glorious when the king and queen were covered in bits of fat, meat and various shredded vegetables. They were both terribly proud, you see… Well, wait...let me begin at the beginning. It was harvest time, and a call had gone out for all the magicians, performers and skilled folk to come compete for the honor of who should be allowed to feature at the banquet to honor the kingdom rulers...”

 

Aragorn listened to the story in growing amusement, laughing aloud at the comical climax of the tale before slowly sobering, looking out into the dark night after they both fell silent. Tapping out his pipe, he put it away before realizing the eyes had disappeared.

 

Putting the dagger back into the sheathe, be banked the fire low and laid down to sleep. As he drifted off, he wondered if coming upon the dagger would prove to be a blessing in disguise or something to regret in the days ahead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Many months later found Strider sitting at an inn in Bree, sipping an ale and taking in the local gossip. The patrons were loud and boisterous in their drinking and singing, and he sat in a back corner, musing. Normally, he enjoyed being back among men and being a part of the life of a village, at least for a time. But _Mell_ , as he had come to call his blade spirit, never spoke to him much when he tarried in towns or settlements with many people.

 

When he questioned her as to her marked silences when near others, she assured him none other than he could ever hear her. To prevent him from seeming as one out of his wits for talking aloud to himself, she spoke little. Yet, as his constant companion for the better part of a year, he found the absence of her conversation unsettling. After only a single night at the inn, he chose to strike out for the wilds again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Trudging through the thick woodland he was traversing, Aragorn frowned in thought. He continued to try to assist Gandalf in tracking down Gollum, but it seemed as soon as he had a promising trail to follow, it vanished like a plume of smoke in the breeze. Years had passed, and he seemed no closer to his prey. He sighed in weary frustration.

 

“I well know that sound,” _Mell_ quipped warmly from where she rested against his waist. “Shall I again sing you Tilly Tally, Nilly Dally, Rumbock Shoo, for your amusement and cheer, good sir?”

 

Aragorn chuckled, remembering the comical song about a bumbling lord she had once sung to him. “Nay, just the memory alone is enough to make me laugh, lady. But will you indulge me instead on a point of curiosity?”

 

“Ask as you please, Strider. I will satisfy your thirst for knowledge if I can.”

 

He pursed his lips as he continued to walk. “The sorcerer you say bound you into the dagger...why would he do something so cruel?”

 

A nervous laugh floated through the air, then the sound of her clearing her throat. “Oh, that. You see,...Well, I may have _accidentally_ , you understand,” her voice dropped quieter and she said the next words all in a rush. “Strictly speaking, I killed his favorite dragon when one of my own spells went awry. And I think I also burnt down his castle, but I meant no harm! I had not yet mastered my abilities given me by my mother.”

 

Coming to a standstill, the Ranger pulled the dagger out and stared into the blue eyes that stared back with an obvious look of embarrassment. “You mean to say he cursed you to such a fate due to an accident and misunderstanding?”

 

Tears misted around the blue eyes. “Yes, that is so. He was very powerful in magic and I sought him out in the land of the mortals to improve my skills. I had little control of my gifts, which was quite a disgrace among my own people. He assured me he could teach me in secret, in exchange for a family gem, which I gave him without hesitation. I did not realize he played me false, and used the stone to learn my true name, thereby allowing him to imprison me thus.”

 

“Is there no way to undo the enchantment, or break this curse over you?” he asked with a frown.

 

She gave a long, heavy sigh. “There was a way, to be sure, but it is quite impossible now. Could I have reached my mother or returned to the isle, or even made it to Camelot, I could have gotten help.”

 

“Where is Camelot? I have not heard of it.” He tilted his head curiously.

 

The eyes looked to the side, as though unfocused with memory. “It is a fair and good kingdom in the mortal lands of men, ruled by a righteous and noble king. But...let us not speak more of what I cannot undo. I wonder...should you like to look through the dagger in the same way as I look out? Then you may see my bower where I am kept, and perhaps feel less sorry for me.”

 

He smiled, immediately intrigued. “Is such a thing possible? May I see you, as well? I confess I am curious as to your appearance after these years we have traveled together, _Mell_.”

 

“I can still work some magic,” she replied, narrowing her eyes in thought. “It should be but a trifle to allow you to see in. One moment.”

 

Aragorn heard her chanting something in an unknown language and the blade wavered in a cloudy shroud, then cleared, showing him a room, as though looking through a window. Fascinated, he leaned closer to the blade, taking in the sight of a richly appointed bedchamber. It was hung with fine tapestries worked in gold and silver, a wood framed bed hung in red curtains from the posters, plush carpets adorned the floor, and the furniture within was fit for a lord. But it was what he beheld next that made him catch his breath in entranced wonder.

 

He could see _Mell_ , all of her. A shapely woman with a willowy frame stared solemnly back at him, dressed in a white dress with a belted girdle of gold hung about her middle, highlighting her small waist that flowed into shapely hips. Her long, flaxen hair curled loosely to the base of her spine. She brushed it back in a nervous movement and smiled hesitantly, the cheeks on her heart-shaped face coloring to the same soft pink as her lips.

 

Schooling his expression to something he hoped resembled kind disinterest, he returned her smile. “It does look a fine chamber, but it seems rather small a space to be confined to.”

 

Her bosom rose and fell with an extended breath, drawing his gaze there until he realized where he was looking and hastily sought her eyes again. “I am well used to it, and what point may there be in railing against fate? I cannot change it. But I am happy to be seen by you, as a person and more than a blade. Thank you for that, Strider.”

 

Leaning a little nearer, he smiled gently. “Aragorn.” Her dark golden brows drew together in puzzlement, making his smile widen. “That is my true name, _Mell_. Aragorn, not Strider.”

 

Blushing with a shy smile, she clasped her hands together. “Shall I tell you mine, as well? I know you would never use it to hurt me… It is Êlrîniâ, not _Melltithio_ or _Mell_ as you have taken to calling me all this time.” She glanced down and curtsied gracefully, then smiled with a hint of a tease in her blue eyes. “I am pleased to meet you properly, at last, Aragorn. Or as close as I may come to a proper meeting with you.”

 

Dipping his chin in a respectful nod, he automatically translated her name to what it would be in elvish, of star-crowned void, and thought it sadly suited her. For as beautiful and light-graced as she appeared, she was surely trapped in her own solitary void of existence. At least with him, she would never be truly alone. Come what may, he would not willingly part with the _Melltithio_ blade. He would protect it, and her, for as long as she remained a part of it.

 

Placing a hand to his heart, he stared at her earnestly. “It is my great honor to see you and know your true name, Lady Êlrîniâ. It is only right that friends such as we are, should know one anothers names, though we may well choose to keep it secret from all others.”

 

She laughed in delight, and he smiled at the sight of a charming dimple that appeared in her right cheek.

 

“Oh, this is wonderful! I never thought to have a bearer who would become a dear friend. I would not have thought such good fortune possible. What a gift you have given me, Aragorn.”

 

Aragorn’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “I believe it is _you_ who are the gift, lady. Though I am loathe to give up the sight of your lovely face, so newly discovered, I suppose I must press on now.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Will it be possible for us to speak this way in future, so we may see one another?”

 

She came nearer to his vantage point until they were quite close, and she blocked the sight of the room beyond with her nearness. “Yes, now I have done it once I can do the same again. Let us continue the journey, if you will. I am always here when you want me.”

 

He sheathed the blade with a grin, feeling strangely young again in that moment, and his steps as he ventured ahead were light and unburdened.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Aragorn? Aragorn! Awake, awake! Danger draws nigh. I have cloaked your presence as much as I can, but I do not know how long it may last.”

 

The Ranger’s eyes flew open and he was instantly on his feet, surprised to see a shimmering, transparent form of Êlrîniâ standing beside him. Gathering his things together in seconds, he looked back at her in inquiry.

 

“From which direction does the threat approach?”

 

“From the east. Hurry, now! No harm must come to you. Please, go!”

 

He went quickly and quietly in a south westerly direction, covering several miles at speed. It was another hour before she spoke again.

 

“I no longer feel the evil, Aragorn. I think it is safe if you wish to rest for a moment.”

 

He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head against the light drizzle that had begun to fall. “Nay, we shall not stop. I am eager to reach a settlement and hear news. Again, you have saved me from a dangerous and unknown entanglement, Êlrîniâ. I am grateful to you.”

 

A moment of silence passed and he did not think she would respond, when her voice came, soft and almost hesitant. “You are a valiant warrior, noble and virtuous. I think Arthur himself could not truly rival you for chivalry. If by any sacrifice of my life or power, I can protect and shield you, I shall. You have my vow, as a lady of one of the ruling houses of fair Avalon, now lost to me. I hope you will accept this fealty I offer you.”

 

His brows drew together, and he stopped and pulled out the dagger, looking at her form through the magical window that connected them, becoming concerned not just by her words, but also by her wan and pale face. “What do you mean, sacrifice? Have you done something that would endanger your own well-being?”

 

Her smile was faint, her eyes tired. “Worry not, I will recover with a bit of rest. I drew on my own deep magic to fully cloak you as I did.” Her mouth firmed with a look of resolve. “I would have done much more if the situation called for it. I know from your last visit to the north that you are a great lord, Aragorn. Why do you not have your warriors always with you for protection? Why travel so far and wide on your own?”

 

Grey eyes softened as his lips turned up in a barely-there smile. “I am not alone, lady. You are always with me, and I would not trade that for a hundred warriors.” She glanced away with a blush while his smile grew before he slowly sobered and leveled a severe look on her. “I shall accept this pledge you offer of your service, but as your newly taken lord I would give you this command: you are not to endanger your life for mine. Do you understand? That is never a risk I would have you take.”

 

Her entire countenance brightened and she smiled radiantly, making his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her unaffected beauty. “You may command me, my lord, just as you please. But I may choose to disregard it if I deem the situation dire enough for me to act. If you wish to shield me, you must first protect yourself or leave me to do it for you.”

 

Rubbing his brow, he sighed, recognizing by the underlying steel in her tone that she would not be moved on that point, but neither would he. He would have to become even more cautious than he had been before, if it was required for her protection. Ignoring that for the moment, he asked something he was curious about.

 

“When you woke me, you were visible to me, though not solid in form. What did you do?”

 

Smoothing the front of her gown and sitting back in the chair where she rested, she shrugged. “It was a projection. I discovered a way to partially send myself to the world out there.” She waved a hand toward him. “I cannot maintain it long, not yet. But even so small an escape from my prison seems miraculous to me. There seems to be some amount of sympathetic give and take between myself and whoever holds the dagger. I never received anything beneficial before from previous bearers, but simply put...you give me greater strength and ability than I have ever known before, my Lord Aragorn.”

 

His brows rose in surprise and he stroked a hand across the beard on his chin thoughtfully. “That is good news. If you become stronger, mayhap there may even be discovered a way to release you and shatter this prison that holds you captive.”

 

Standing, she approached closer to him with a sad smile. “There is no way to release me from this curse, save one: the sacrificial blood of a true and pure-hearted king, given willingly to the dagger’s blade. Rothelmere taunted me with the knowledge, for he knew when he banished me to wherever this realm is, that I would never be able to find my way back to King Arthur so he might release me.” She stared down at the floor beneath her feet. “I tell you this, for I know you seem to cherish the thought that I might be released. But perhaps you will now realize that there truly is no hope for me.”

 

Aragorn smiled gently, a bright gleam and firm resolve in his grey eyes. “Êlrîniâ,” he said softly, drawing her gaze back to his. “There is always hope.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

With a weary, bowed head, Aragorn left the site of his mother’s still fresh grave behind him and journeyed on south, back into the wilds. Though he had not visited her often during his wandering years, knowing Gilraen, as his only living parent was still there should he need her, was a great comfort. With her death, he was now parentless, and though many years a man grown, it somehow left him feeling adrift in a way he had not expected. Her final words to him echoed in his mind, further example of the life of grief she had led after the death of his father.

 

_Ónen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim. (Sindarin: I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself.)_

 

While he walked on, something raw and painful finally tore loose inside of him, causing him to stagger against a nearby tree and sink to his knees, overcome. Memories of his boyhood and his mother’s smile floated behind his closed lids. Little things, like how she habitually stroked his hair back from his face and kissed his brow when she pulled him to sit on her lap when he was a lad. Her hands, with long, slender fingers working diligently as she sewed him a new cloak.

 

His people had continued to decline, and Sauron had continued to gain footholds across their lands. He had hoped his mother would live to see their enemy’s defeat, but such was not to be. Could he have done more, and somehow given his mother new hope to cling to? His own hand curled into a fist which he raised to his mouth to stifle the sounds of his grieved weeping. When his head fell forward, he even imagined he felt the gentle brush of her fingers through his hair.

 

“ _Díheno nin, Naneth_ ,” he murmured quietly, opening his eyes in surprise when he realized the fingers in his hair belonged to a very real woman. _(S. Forgive me, Mother.)_ He drew in a sharp breath when he looked up into soft, blue eyes he knew as well as his own. “Êlrîniâ?” he questioned in shock. “How…?”

 

She shook her head. “Shhh, Aragorn. I know your mother was very dear to you, just as mine was to me. Please allow me to offer you this small comfort of understanding while I may.” She went to her knees in front of him, bringing her eye-level with him, and he stared in amazement, for there was not a hint of transparency in her form as had been the case any of the other times she appeared to him outside of the dagger. She looked entirely real, and her touch was equally real. With a kind smile, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair again, pushing shaggy locks away from his forehead, then wiped a lone tear from his face.

 

Instantly, he reached for her, pulling her against him and releasing a quiet, relieved sigh when the rest of her felt just as real as she looked, and so warm and soft in his arms. Never had he been more grateful for her presence in his life than he was at that moment, and his grief eased dramatically while he was caught in the wonder of her gentle embrace. Closing his eyes, he turned his face further into her golden curls, stroking curious fingers through her hair and marveling at its softness. She smelled of the pleasing sweetness of apples on a hot summer day. His arms tightened around her when she scratched gentle fingers against his scalp. Never had he held any woman so close who was not his family, but in that moment he realized how much he had truly wished to hold Êlrîniâ.

 

“I know not by what miracle this is possible,” he said in a low voice, “but I thank you for it just the same.”

 

“The miracle is entirely yours, my lord. Your strength continues to make new things possible for me, and your sorrow called to me so strongly it was not difficult to appear to you as I truly am.” She pulled back enough to meet his eyes, brushing a curious hand down his bearded cheek.

 

Reaching out, he reverently touched the soft skin of her face with his fingertips, then ran the backs of his fingers against her cheek. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth, holding it against his lips for a kiss before he sighed and lowered it between them. Concerned he would not have her for much longer, he pulled her back into his arms, eager and hungry for further contact.

 

“Forgive me if I am too forward, lady. I but fear you will disappear at any moment, and I...have long wished it were possible to touch you in some way, or even to be granted the privilege to kiss your hand.”

 

“I do not find you too forward, lord,” she replied quietly, curling her fingers into his cloak, thinking of how long she had also wished she could touch him in some way. “You were your mother’s only child?”

 

“Yes. And what of you? Had you any siblings?”

 

She shook her head against his shoulder where it rested. “None. My father died in battle before my birth, so I never knew him either. Just...my mother. I never got to say goodbye to her,” she said wistfully. “I have always wondered if she ever discovered what became of me. I fear I brought her nothing but grief. Perhaps I was always destined to be cursed as I am.”

 

Grasping her chin, Aragorn brought her face near his own, his brows furrowed and his expression gently chiding. “I do not believe that is meant to be your fate, lady. I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to release you from your bondage, though it take me a hundred years.”

 

Êlrîniâ’s eyes filled with tears and spilled over while she gave him a tremulous smile. “I believe you. Though I think it an impossible task you set yourself, I believe if anyone can find a way to do it, it would be you, Aragorn.”

 

Smiling tenderly, he pulled her near and brushed a brief, affectionate kiss to her forehead. They ended up against the tree next to them, Êlrîniâ tucked into Aragorn’s side while he kept her in his arms. It was decidedly against all propriety that they were both raised to follow to sit together in so intimate a manner, but with such unique circumstances and a longstanding friendship between them, neither of them felt inclined to voice any objection. For more than an hour they sat that way, quiet and content, both of them.

 

Aragorn’s sorrow had lessened considerably, and he found himself imbued with a surprising new strength and resolve, for he had greater reason than ever to keep to his chosen path, and one day see his birthright fully restored.

 

When Êlrîniâ disappeared sometime later, back into the dagger, a fresh hope and wish had been born in Aragorn’s heart; one that would sustain him for the many years of struggle and effort that still lay before him.

 

* * *

~o~

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
